


Collateral

by Cakkie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, BAMFs, Banter, Concern, Destiny, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Attraction, Opposites Attract, Protectiveness, Self-Defense, Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Humor, Some angst, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakkie/pseuds/Cakkie
Summary: When Jaskier is injured by a ghoul, Geralt takes it upon himself to save his friend. But Geralt is dead set on keeping Jaskier safe. Especially after Jaskier strikes a deal with an elf. However, things become even more complicated when Geralt and Jaskier strike a deal with each other. For what could be more complicated than feelings? But when Jaskier wants to learn how to fight, Geralt will go to any lengths in order to protect him. Even if that means pushing Jaskier away.Or, Jaskier can't make sense of what is happening between him and Geralt. But perhaps he doesn't want to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 70
Kudos: 844





	1. A Bit of Rain

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am new to this fandom but I really love this pairing. They are so much fun to write about! And just and FYI, I haven't finished watching the show, nor have I read the books or played the game yet. Either way, I hope you will enjoy this story as I plan to write more.

Jaskier hated the rain.

The grey dampness seemed to seep into his every pore, right down to his very bones. His finery, soiled by mud and dirt, and skin soaked wet with rain, Jaskier hugged his body tight to keep warm. It was no secret that the bard preferred the finer things in life, but he wasn’t about to abandon his muse just to escape the chill anytime soon.

With perfect accuracy, Geralt continued to slash away at the ghouls in the swamp graveyard. They kept coming forth, one right after the other, rising from the murky depths of the wetlands like some unimaginable nightmare. Angry rage filled grunts gave way to a deadly display of swordplay as Geralt cut down his enemy like a scythe hacking wheat in a field. The Witcher fought off the never-ending battle of fearsome monsters with incredible speed and agility. Jaskier smirked. It would make for an epic ballad or jaunty tune later. He could almost count all the coin he would make upon visiting the taverns and courtly estates after such an adventure. But what he wouldn’t give for a hot meal, a warm bath, and a warm body to share it with right about now. Well, one warm body in particular. But those thoughts were off limits. They had to be. Or else one day he might face the wrong end Geralt’s blade, or worse, his back.

Yet it did not stop Jaskier from drinking in every graceful line of movement from that powerful body from where he hid. With every mighty swing of his sword, Geralt made fighting seem like poetry. Large muscles bunched and flexed beneath his black tunic as he swung his blade, decapitating a screaming ghoul and rendering it silent with one thrust. His white hair hanging damp and free in his face, Geralt continued to swing his blade with skill and accuracy as one foe after another dropped to their deaths. It would make for thrilling entertainment later. So riveting a tale to be sung around a fire or at court that even Geralt himself could not find reason to complain.

To get a better view, Jaskier swept his dark hair out of his face. Soaked flat to his head by the rain, he pushed it to one side, wiping his face as he did so.

“Ah-ah- _achoo_!” Jaskier sneezed.

Groaning at how miserable he felt, the bard reached in his pocket for a handkerchief only to come face-to-face with a hungry ghoul. The monstrosity before him let out a scream so terrifying Jaskier thought his heart would stop. Then the monster hissed, displaying a mouth full of razor sharp canine teeth dripping with saliva ( _or at least what Jaskier hoped was saliva_!). And the bard felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

“ _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit_!” he gasped.

The beast snapped its jaws, hunching low into a predatory posture. Jaskier ducked and rolled, missing dagger-like claws by an inch before rising to his feet and running as fast as he could before the creature attacked again. His soggy boots splashed through the water as he raced towards Geralt.

“Geralt!” he cried, trying to get the Witcher’s attention. “Uh, I am in need of your help, my friend, like _now_! _Fuckity, fuck, fuck_!”

But his desperate pleas fell on silent ears. The Witcher didn’t even bother turn around. Too busy cutting down a swarm of ghouls in the center of the swamp, which, thankfully, looked like the last of them, the Witcher finished his task by eliminating the threat, all save for one—an incredibly large, pissed off looking one who towered after Jaskier as he ran for his life.

“Geralt!” he yelled in desperation one last time and the Witcher turned at last.

Their eyes met and a silent understanding passed between them. When Jaskier got close enough, the bard dropped to his knees and slid in the mud past Geralt while Geralt dealt with the ghoul.

The thing let out a monstrous wail as it died. Heart thumping, Jaskier glanced back in time to witness Geralt violently shove a dagger between its eyes before cracking the ghoul’s skull in half. Jaskier winced. He almost felt sorry for the thing. _Almost_. But then Geralt withdrew his blade in a forceful grunt. A shooting stream of green puss and slime escaped and then it was over.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins and breathing labored, Jaskier broke out in a wide grin. They did it. Well, not so much _they_ , as Geralt, but Jaskier wasn’t one for formalities. Before long they would find themselves somewhere warm and safe and Jaskier would sing, _‘Toss a coin to your Witcher’_ to the adoring crowd. If he played his cards right, some of that coin might just fill his pockets too.

“Uooh, uoh-uoh!” Jaskier laughed, rising slowly to his feet. “That was amazing! For a minute there I thought I was a goner!”

“Hmm,” Geralt contemplated in a low hum, his eyes dark. “You alright?”

“Huh? I’m fine, Geralt. Just fine. You’re the one who just defeated a band of ghouls and saved my lovely behind in the process!”

“Then what the fuck is that?” Geralt marched forward, mud splashing under his heavy footsteps as he pointed to the puffy sleeve of Jaskier’s shirt.

Jaskier glanced down at his ripped shirt and noticed a cut there.

“Oh, that? It’s just a scratch, Geralt. Nothing to worry yourself over,” he said wiping at the blood.

“ _Don’t fucking touch it_!” Geralt roared, breathing heavy and chest heaving.

Jaskier jumped, backing away. He’d been yelled at by Geralt before but this time it felt different. Geralt was genuinely upset. Not at something he did, but at something done to him.

“It’s nothing.” The bard gave his friend a reassuring smile.

“It could be infected,” Geralt offered a little calmer this time. “Ghouls are poison. We need to get you to a healer, fast.”

“But it’s barely a scratch,” Jaskier repeated right as his knees gave out.

With lightning fast reflexes, Geralt swept forward and caught the bard in his arms, scooping him up before Jaskier landed face first in the swamp. As if handling a sack of potatoes, Geralt tossed Jaskier over his shoulder with little effort and began to high tail it the hell out of there.

“Uh, I don’t feel so well,” Jaskier groaned in dismay. “Where are we going, anyway? I don’t remember any mages around here, do you, Geralt? Geralt? Heeeeelooo?” he called in a sing-song voice. “Hey! You big brute! Are you listening? Answer me!”

Jaskier could practically _hear_ the giant eye roll Geralt made. But his head felt light and suddenly everything turned topsy-turvy. Up was down and down was up. His head spun and his stomach soured. Jaskier tasted bile in the back of this throat and thought he was about to puke. But if he threw up on Geralt, even with all the mud and muck, Jaskier knew his life might end right there. So, he fought it down as best he could and held on tight to Geralt instead. A violent set hot and cold at shivers wreaked havoc on his body as a fever set in. His ability to breathe labored, Jaskier let out a pained moan.

“Hold on, Jaskier. I am going to get you a healer.”

That sounded nice. Geralt sounded calm. But even in his current state, Jaskier knew better. Tension lined his friend’s big shoulders and his powerful back muscles tightened ram-rod straight with fury. The Witcher was anything but calm.

“Uh, Geralt? I _really_ don’t feel good.” He groaned. “And I don’t like being carried around like this. It’s weird. Even for you. Maybe you should put me down for now.”

“And maybe you should shut the hell up for once,” Geralt snapped, continuing on their path, wherever that was.

For once, Jaskier tried to do as he was told. He forced his body go limp and still. He bit his tongue, which felt thick in his mouth and noticed a perfectly round muscular bottom before his vision.

“What a nice ass.” Jaskier swallowed, eyes heavy lidded and drowsy. “Is that mine?”

Geralt grunted. “No.”

“Good,” was the last thing Jaskier muttered before his eyes closed shut. He thought he heard the Witcher mutter, “ _Bloody bard_ ,” before darkness took hold of him.


	2. A Dire Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is prepared to do just about anything for the life of a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! It means the world to me. And I had originally planned to post this chapter in a day or two, but I was able to finish writing it today. Your comments are always greatly appreciated. And I am curious. Do you prefer shorter chapters with less wait time? Or longer chapters with more of a wait time? Well, thanks again! Enjoy.

Marching in great strides through the wet marshlands, Geralt found his way to Roach. Unharmed, and tied right where he left her, his horse snorted, flicking her dark ears back while stomping her hooves in anticipation as Geralt approached.

“Easy,” he muttered in an effort to calm her.

He and his mare were one, but soon they would learn to be three as he lifted Jaskier down from his shoulders to ready him for travel. But when Jaskier made a pained noise, Geralt halted in his steps. He easily flipped the bard around to get a better look. His eyes widened at what he saw.

If he had a heart, the Witcher vowed right then that it would be in his throat.

Skin the colour of ash and dark hair caked with dirt, Jaskier already appeared half-dead as he struggled to breathe. Desperation and fear danced behind his bloodshot eyes as he looked to Geralt for help. Even without the incessant need for words, the Witcher understood what the bard was trying to say. _Please don’t let me die._

“Fuck,” Geralt swore as the pit of his stomach dropped.

Things looked bad. Things looked really fucking bad.

His outlook bleak, bleaker than the grey swamplands surrounding them, Geralt swallowed a lump in his throat as the bard gasped for air, clawing at his neck. Geralt did the only thing he could. Gingerly, more gingerly than he’d care to admit, Geralt cradled Jaskier in his arms as he sank down to one knee. With thick, calloused fingers, he found the secret compartment hidden on his belt. Fumbling in the dark, Geralt used his Witcher instincts to grip his last remaining vial of potion, black as night and full to the brim.

Uncorking the bottle with his teeth and spiting it to the wind, Geralt spoke through clenched teeth, “ _You better fucking thank me for this, bard_!” And sloshed it around in his mouth. A legend stirred in his memory from outside The Continent of a magical healing elixir born from Witcher spit mixed with potion. While it was nothing more than hearsay among his kind, he hoped to hell it worked.

Jaskier still continued to gasp for breath as Geralt pressed his lips to his, emptying the entire content of potion into the bard’s open mouth. As Jaskier swallowed it down, Geralt tried not to focus on his lips. They were soft and welcoming for a man. A little too welcoming. But Geralt pushed such thoughts aside.

In what felt like a life age on The Continent, Geralt held his breath as Jaskier stilled in his arms. Time slowed and his pulse quickened. Then with one large wheezing gasp, Jaskier’s eyes (no longer red) shot open and he took a deep life-altering breath.

Geralt slumped in relief as the tension in his shoulders released. His friend would live.

But then the bard began to cough so fiercely Geralt feared he might hack up his lungs.

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier,” Geralt cursed, flipping Jaskier over his knee and giving him a hard whack to the back, “ _breathe_!”

Jaskier coughed and then puked the entire contents of his dinner all over the ground.

He coughed a few more times, spiting up clear fluid in the mud until there was nothing left. “Uh, ah, gross. I’m, I’m so-sorry,” Jaskier spat out between breaths. “Please don’t… uh, don’t kill me, Geralt. Not yet.”

It came as a relief to hear that talkative voice say his name once more. Geralt snorted. “Remind me never to take you on a hunt again.”

“Uh, oh-no, ooh, not… not going to happen, Geralt, you rascal!” Jaskier glanced over his shoulder and grinned, wiping the sick from his chin as he did so. “You’re stuck with me.”

Geralt groaned and rolled his eyes. This bard would be the death of him yet.

Yet Geralt couldn’t put into words what it meant knowing Jaskier would live. The thought of never hearing the bard sing, or share in his companionship (even when he wished for blessed silence), somehow pained him… greatly. Against all beliefs as a Witcher, it felt wrong not to have Jaskier in his life.

“Can you stand?” Geralt asked, his hands still holding Jaskier in place. He moved his thumb unaware, rubbing soothing circles on Jaskier’s slender back. Geralt caught what he was doing and stopped.

Why, when it came to Jaskier, did Geralt always want to protect him? Why did he always want to see him safe? Geralt was a Witcher. And Witcher’s did not have feelings. They were notoriously cold, emotionless, ruthless killers. Yet with one word from Jaskier, Geralt became something else. Something better.

Slumped over his knee, relaxed and boneless, Jaskier didn’t seem to notice either way.

Geralt fixed him with a sharp look. Colour began to return to his cheeks as Jaskier stared at him, a hazy look in his eyes almost as if he didn’t fully comprehend his whereabouts. Almost as if he were still under effects of the poison.

A muscle ticked in Geralt’s Jaw.

Regardless of how angry the bard made him at times, he wanted Jaskier back to normal.

“Can you walk?” he repeated.

“Ah, yes? No?” Jaskier blinked. “Um, actually I’m not quite sure to be honest.”

With little more than a gentle tug underneath his arms, Geralt helped Jaskier to his feet. The bard teeter-tottered from foot to foot before finding his legs, steadying himself. He was light as a feather and weaker than a newborn kitten. Even soaking wet, Geralt had known basilisk heads to weigh more than him. The thought brought a smirk to his lips.

“Uh, Geralt?”

“Hmm.” Geralt fussed with Roach before they set out on their way.

“I don’t feel so good,” he said just as Geralt glanced around and see the bard sag to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Oh, fuck,” Geralt spat.

_Out of the frying pan, into the fire!_

The Witcher raced to Jaskier. Eyes closed shut, the bard went limp in his arms yet his breathing remained normal. Thank fuck for that. But when he lifted a hand to Jaskier’s forehead, Geralt swore under his breath. The bard was burning up. While the elixir had worked to clear Jaskier’s airways, infection had already set in. The bard would die unless he found a mage.

“Fuck,” he cursed again as panic pumped through his blood.

“ _You’re stuck with me_.” Jaskier’s words from earlier echoed through in his mind.

A sharp pang twisted deep in his chest. The memory of Jaskier smiling at him touched a long-forgotten part of his soul he thought gone… and it hurt. It hurt that he might never see Jaskier smile again.

Stomping through the muck, Geralt spat through his teeth, “Don’t you die! _Don’t you fucking die, Jaskier_! You, hear me?”

He griped Jaskier with such force that he practically flung the bard over Roach, draping him in front of the saddle. Roach neighed in ready as Geralt mounted her.

Griping the harness with one hand and holding onto Jaskier with the other, Geralt shouted, “Ya!”

With the hard click of his heels he road his mare hard into the night to find a healer. He prayed to whatever useless God listening that he found one in time.


	3. A Taste of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jaskier strikes a deal with a new acquaintance, Geralt is less than pleased.

The two-story stone roadside tavern shone to Geralt like a beacon in the night.

Drunken laughter, filled the with the silhouettes of social gatherers in windows, called to him like a moth to a flame.

Geralt road Roach harder, her hooves stomping through puddles and racing over obstacles. Foam dripped from her mouth the faster she ran. Heavy pants escaped his mare like puffs of smoke in the night as she gave chase to his every command. Geralt mentally swore to repay her later. She was a good horse. The best.

They came to a galloping stop in front of the tavern as Geralt dismounted in one swift move, taking Jaskier, light and slack in his arms, with him.

The bard moaned as he continued to slip in and out of consciousness. At least he seemed somewhat peaceful. Geralt swore that if Jaskier came out of this unscathed, he wouldn’t let the bard out of his sight until they parted ways… _if_ they parted ways. But Geralt didn’t want to think of that right now.

With a hard kick to the door, Geralt entered the tavern.

The merry making drew to a halt. A tense silence fell over the room, its patrons waited with bated breath. No one said a word. No one dared to. A Witcher stood before them.

“I need a healer,” Geralt bellowed, muscling his way to through the tavern.

While holding Jaskier close in his arms, he turned, whipping his white hair back off his face, eyes desperately scanning the room for someone to step forward. When no one did, his stomach twisted in knots.

“Anyone!” he called. “I have coin.”

A few hushed mummers rushed past his ears. The people were nervous, fearful, but Geralt pleaded with his eyes for someone to help. They had to. He wasn't about to let the bard die this way.

Then tucked far in the back, clinging to the shadows, a cloaked figure emerged from the dark, rising to his feet. Tall as Geralt, but thin, he moved as sleek and deadly as a plains cat on a hunt. As he approached, Geralt bared his teeth, letting out a warning growl not to come any closer.

The man lifted his long, slender gloved hands in peace.

“Destiny has bound us here tonight, Witcher,” the man said, his voice crystalline and soft.

Geralt frowned. Cast in shadow, his hooded cloak concealed most of his face from view. Only his smirking lips, which had a scar running vertically across them, were visible. Yet, from his attire alone, with its deep greens and rich brows, Geralt guessed he must be a wealthy young lord or some buggering merchant. If he were able to, Jaskier would envy his taste in clothing. The thought made Geralt snort.

“You’re a healer?” Geralt asked, doubtful.

“No, Witcher,” the man said, stepping forward. “But I can heal.”

“Hmm.” Geralt frowned. He didn’t have time for this shit.

“We don’t want your kind here, Witcher!” the proprietor shouted with the forceful slam of his fist on the table, sending cups of ale tumbling.

“Dearheart,” a plump middle-aged woman on his right soothed. Geralt assumed by the softness in her tone she must be the innkeeper’s wife. “Calm yourself. A Witcher is good for business.”

“But not for our home! Now leave,” he spat.

Geralt wanted nothing more than to run his blade through the innkeeper’s fat gut but held his tongue. He fixed him with a sharp glare instead. His wife, on the other hand, had more sense.

“Darling,” she cooed to her seething husband. The man had balls, Geralt gave him that. “At least let him help his, uh… _companion_. Just until morning.”

The innkeeper turned to his wife and his whole demeanor softened. “Very well, Raggeta, ‘till morning then. Witcher, head my warning. I will not make any excuses if you wake to find a pitchfork stuck in your belly.”

Geralt grunted as he turned away from the innkeeper. He focused his attention on the strange man before him. “Name your price.”

The man wavered slightly and then, “The price will be determined once I am better able to administer my, uh… _talents_.”

His calm manner of speaking made Geralt want to punch his face right through the wall. “You a wizard?”

The man laughed. “Certainty not, no.”

“Hmm,” Geralt contemplated. “All right. Do what you must. Save him.”

“Follow me.”

* * *

Climbing up an infinite number of stairs, Geralt followed the man to his sleeping chambers. The door swung open with a loud creak and slammed shut behind them. It was dark inside, and cold. The man whispered something under his breath and the iron torches flared to life.

“Who are you?” Geralt growled, holding Jaskier tight.

Slowly the man turned, lifting back his cloak. Sharp, angular features and long wavy chestnut hair curled around fine pointed ears. This man was no man but an elf.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck would an elf be doing mixing with humans?”

“I have my reasons, Witcher, as you do yours. Now, help me clear this table. We need a place to put your friend.”

“He’s not my friend.”

The elf gave him a pointed look with the arch of his brow as if to say, “ _Are you sure about that?_ ”

Fuck, Geralt really wanted to punch his face through the wall.

“Wouldn’t a bed do just as well?” Geralt asked.

“In order to stop the spread of infection,” he carried on, swiping the tablecloth and vase away as he did so, “I need to get a better look him. Ghoul venom is poison.”

Geralt gentled Jaskier on the table but refused to let go. “How did you know his injury was from a ghoul?”

Those blue eyes bore into his. “I can smell it.”

_Fucking elves._

“Help me undress him, but keep his breeches on. We need to bring his fever down. Here,” he handed Geralt a pitcher of water, “have him drink some of this if you can.”

The elf busied himself by removing Jaskier’s soggy boots and socks while Geralt worked on removing his mud stained jacket and undershirt. His calloused fingers lightly brushed across the bard’s clammy skin and he mentally cursed. Jaskier was still burning up.

“It’s astonishing that he can breathe at all,” the elf said as he began to mix some dried herbs together.

“I gave him one of my potions.”

“Mixed with your saliva?” the elf asked.

Geralt grunted.

“Good thinking, Witcher.”

Geralt brought the pitcher to Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier took a sip and coughed, spitting water all down his front.

“Uh, sorry,” his voice came out strained and something in the Witcher’s chest tightened.

“It’s no use.” The elf sighed. “If this keeps up, he won’t last until sunrise.”

“Fuck off, elf,” Geralt growled through clenched teeth. “Here, Jaskier,” he said, softer this time, “drink.”

Their eyes met and Geralt felt it right in his gut. His fingers tightened on the back of Jaskier’s neck as gently as possible (for a man, Jaskier was delicate), and did the only thing he could. He helped Jaskier sit upright and took a large swig of water in his mouth before passing it on to Jaskier. Their lips touched and Geralt tried to ignore the pleasant hum in the pit of his chest.

When the bard’s hand came to cup the back of his neck to pull him closer, Geralt’s blood turned to fire. How did Jaskier always do this to him? Make him feel things when he shouldn’t? He was a Witcher for fucks sake. And Witcher’s didn’t feel things, especially for bard’s who wouldn’t shut up, no matter how well they sang.

“Uh,” Jaskier gasped when they broke away. “Tastes like heaven. More.”

Geralt growled and obliged.

They broke away and Jaskier smiled at him. _Smiled_.

“A White Wolf guarding his pup,” the elf remarked, sarcasm laced in his voice. “Are you going to chew his food for him as well?”

Geralt ignored the barb and eased Jaskier back to the table. “If that’s what it takes to keep him alive.”

He felt the stare on him but didn’t bother to look up. He smoothed back the dark matted hair from Jaskier’s forehead instead.

“Interesting. Now hold him down,” the elf ordered, unrolling a bag of sharp instruments, “he may scream a little.”

Geralt swallowed. He wished there was more he could do for the bard. He ran the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip in a soothing caress. Jaskier sighed and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long fucking night.

* * *

When Jaskier awoke, everything hurt.

Places he didn’t even know existed hurt.

Hazily, he opened eyes and wondered if he’d gone to Heaven. But then where were all the pretty maidens, rivers of gold, and bountiful platters of food? And why did it hurt so much? Surely there was more to Heaven than this?

A rooster crowed in the distance. Light tricked down over the mountains and Jaskier turned his head. A wave of shock hit him.

The soft bed creaked under his body and his heart rate must have gone up to a mile a minute. Slumped over in a chair, a very exhausted looking Witcher slept. _So, a Witcher and a creaky bed is Heaven?_ Eh, that didn’t actually sound so bad…

“You’re awake.”

Jaskier’s heart jumped at that deep, husky familiar voice. Geralt stayed. And for some reason, kept vigil over him all night by the looks of things.

“I thought you were asleep?” Jaskier said, wincing as pushed himself on his elbows.

“Hmm, can’t,” came Geralt’s weary reply. He looked bone tired. Worse than Jaskier had ever seen him. He wanted to reach out and tell him everything was okay but the rawness in his throat stopped him.

“Oh.”

Jaskier didn’t know what to make of anything. His head felt fuzzy. His body screamed out in agony when he moved. But something important took place here, if only he could remember what it was…

A flash of bright yellow eyes staring into his danced in his memory. Big, gentle hands soothing him as pain, unimaginable pain, tore through him. He thought he remembered someone screaming last night.

He gripped the blankets tighter. What happened to the rest of his clothes? He glanced down to his arm expecting to see a festering cut. Instead, his heavily bandaged arm felt like someone had taken a chunk out of it.

_You really messed things up this time!_

He tried to not panic when Geralt’s boots hit the floor.

“You lost a lot of blood last night. Rest,” Geralt said in concern, his white hair hanging limp over his face.

That came as a surprise. The Witcher normally didn't use such a soft tone. He looked to Geralt and became lost in his bright shining yellow eyes. But when the big man started heading out, Jaskier swallowed in panic.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Geralt said over his shoulder as if his decision was final.

His heart sank. Jaskier didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be left on his own without Geralt again.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me.”

“Can’t. I am not wanted here.”

A fury arose in Jaskier. A fury he couldn’t stop. “Why, that’s complete and utter bullshit fuckery, Geralt! And you know it! _You’re wanted by me_!” he yelled and then a bit quieter, “You’ll always be wanted by me.”

Geralt sighed and turned. “Jaskier, I meant by the people at this inn. If I don’t leave soon, they might throw rocks, like the others did. Or worse.”

This came as a shock. “People throw rocks at you?”

“They’ve been known to,” Geralt said as if it was no big deal.

Jaskier flung the covers back and stood to his feet. He ignored the cries his body made in protest to stay still. But he was feeling flamboyant. He was feeling _pissed_.

“I want names!” he cried against the hoarseness in his throat.

“Names?”

“Yes, Geralt! I want names of those bloody assholes who hurt you! I’m going to go and throw some rocks at their… _heads_.”

“Jaskier,” he said with a fond smile. “I deserved it.”

“But, uh, no, you’re Geralt of Rivia and I’m…”

Geralt stepped forward.

“I’m Jaskier,” he whispered, “of nowhere, from no one.”

Their eyes met, and the air thickened and crackled between them. Jaskier sank his hands into Geralt’s muscular arms, gripping him tight to help stay upright. Well, at least that was the excuse he came up with.

They stood flush together. The heat coming off the Witcher’s large body made Jaskier’s breath hitch. Geralt exhaled a deep breath, and hummed, as if drinking Jaskier in. The Witcher was just so _masculine_ , Jaskier felt his cock stir to life. Uncanny yellow eyes (Jaskier always thought they were more beautiful than uncanny) searched his. His heart pounded when Geralt dropped his gaze down to his lips. Something was going to happen. Something _was_ happening.

But then the door swung wide open. A strange looking man stood there, and the moment was gone.

“Uh, who-who are you?” Jaskier asked and Geralt groaned. A little shaky on his feet, Jaskier stepped forward. “And why are you in my room? Ah, come to think of it, why do I have a room, Geralt? How did we afford all this? And why—”

“I am Talfyrn Brenin Llwyd of the Silver Stones. You may call me Tal,” he said, withdrawing his cloak to reveal pointed ears as he shut the door.

“Eh, Pointy?”

Geralt snorted, amusement dancing behind his smirk. “You need to stop referring to all elves as ‘Pointy’, Jaskier,” he corrected. “This one helped save your life.”

“Oh. Well then, you have my thanks.”

“Although I am pleased you survived the night, _Dandelion_ , however, thanks is not what I am after.”

A low growl came from Geralt. “Don’t fucking call him that,” Geralt’s voice came out low and dangerous. A warning.

_Uh-oh_

“Ah, then what are you after?” Jaskier was quick to avert Geralt’s attention.

“Payment.”

“I have some coin, elf,” Geralt said in a huff, rolling his eyes. “How much do you want?”

“No coin.”

“Uhh, I thought you said you wanted payment?” Jaskier blinked. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind? I mean that would be amazing if you did! Or… is this some weird elf bartering thingy-majiggy that I’m unaware of? Don’t tell me you want my first unborn child instead? Ah, come to think of it, I don’t think that will work because—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt pulled him back by the collar of his undershirt to shut him up.

The elf eyed them with a growing smirk as if he knew a great secret they did not.

“I am an opportunist, Dandelion. Not a philanthropist. And now I have come to collect.”

Geralt barred his teeth in a snarl and Jaskier stood between the two. Jaskier had seen this look before. He knew from experience that Geralt wasn’t just angry he was _furious_. He had to do something, and he had to do it fast.

The Witcher reached back to grab his sword by the hilt.

_Oh shit!_

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped. “Stop! If you don’t behave,” he warned. “I will put you in the naughty corner for a… _time out_!” He pushed Geralt by his broad shoulders but the big man wouldn’t budge an inch.

Pointy was being a bit of dick but Jaskier knew it would solve nothing if Geralt attacked him, or worse, killed him.

“Ooookay… then, Pointy, what opportunity are you looking to get out this?” he asked still standing between them.

Talfyrn’s striking blue eyes shifted to his. “I want time. Your time, bard.”

Geralt snarled and Jaskier shrugged. “Eh, that’s all? Well, I have time right now.”

The elf snickered. “That… is not how this arrangement works. Ultimately time will decipher how and when I collect my payment. It could be an hour, a day, or years of your life. But that is my requirement for saving yours. Time.”

Jaskier let this sink in. It was a strange thing to ask as payment. But it seemed like such a simple request that he couldn’t say no.

“Okay, very well. Time it is, then.”

Jaskier tried to ignore the dissatisfied groan of ‘ _fuck_ ’ Geralt made when Talfyrn nodded in agreement. At least the Witcher’s big shoulders seemed to relax somewhat, and he no longer seemed dead-set on killing Pointy.

“I have done all that I can. You need a sorceress. The ghoul venom in your bloodstream is still potent, and needs to be properly extracted. Otherwise, one day you will turn into a ghoul yourself. Now I must bid you farewell. The room is paid for. Stay as long as you like.”

A stillness fell over the room. Jaskier’s eyes went saucer-wide.

“Ah, wait, wait, wait.” He tried not to panic. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t just say _I will turn into a ghoul_. Geralt! He just said I am to turn into a ghoul! Ah, you did, didn’t you?”

“I did. But you have plenty of time. The Witcher will fill you in on the details.”

A hard lump formed in his throat. He looked to Geralt for reassurance, but the Witcher sighed. The regretful look in his eyes told Jaskier all that he needed to know. Oh shit. It was true. He didn’t want to think about turning into a ghoul right now. He didn’t want to think of turning into a ghoul _ever_. Instead he tried to focus on something else, something real. Something he had control over.

“Uh, oh, umm, so is this room really mine?” He looked around and tried not to think how his heart was ready to beat out of his chest. “But then what about you, Pointy? Where will you sleep?”

Pointy laughed. Whether he laughed at him or his question, Jaskier didn’t know.

“Have you seen this face?” he said pointing at his mouth. “Not many would say no to a night with me.”

Jaskier didn’t want to admit it out loud, but when Pointy smirked like that, the elf _was_ pretty sexy. Suddenly lightheaded, he swayed on his feet. This was all too much. He needed a nap.

“Uh, sorry, I think I have to lie down for awhile…”

“Here, Jaskier,” Geralt eased him to the bed. Jaskier liked this softer side to Geralt. It made his heart happy.

The elf smirked again as he said in a teasing tone, “Perhaps you should give him some more water, Witcher. He’d like that.” He drew his hood overhead with a wink. “Well, remember all that I said. Good luck. Until we meet again, Dandelion.”

Geralt growled as the elf departed. Jaskier had a vague memory of Geralt giving him mouth-to-mouth. His face grew hot. But that must have been a dream. Or maybe just a little taste of heaven. Either way, Jaskier could still feel the soft caress and Geralt’s stubble from where their lips touched last night.

“Geralt, am I really going to turn into a ghoul?” he asked in a whine, sinking into bed.

The Witcher made a face. Not his usual scary face. This face was different. This face looked concerned.

“No. Not if I can help it. I’ll… I promise to keep you safe, Jaskier. Now get some rest. I need to get back to Roach.”

“Not planning to leave me behind now, are you?” Jaskier asked, his eyes heavy.

“Hmm, no.” Geralt grunted.

“Good.”

And with that Jaskier drifted off to sleep, a soft smile plastered on his face.

Geralt would make good on his promise.

* * *

It was mid day, two days later, when Geralt heard the familiar crunch of boots on the forest floor. He’d been camped out in the woods with Roach since that morning in the tavern. While he tried focusing on smaller tasks to occupy his time with while Jaskier recovered, it killed him not being able to take care of things.

The bard must have the whole tavern eating out of the palm of his hand by now. Perhaps he should have just left Jaskier here. Let him handle own mess for once. But Geralt knew that was impossible. Destiny could go fuck itself, but when it came to Jaskier, Geralt could not shake the feeling that destiny had bound them together. Regardless of how much shit Jaskier kept getting himself into.

Now Jaskier hummed, singing as he made his way through the woods as if nothing happened.

“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher, oooh, valley of plenty_ …. Geralt? Geeeeralt!” he called in his usual sing-song voice. “Ah, there you are, you big broody man!” Jaskier grinned, splashing his way though a stream. “So, you didn’t leave me after all!”

Geralt tried to hide the fond smirk growing on his face. He drank Jaskier in as the bard made his way to him. Eyes bright and cheeks pink, the bard looked good. The bard looked healthy. Geralt tried to remain indifferent, but a small thrill burned through his veins. Jaskier was back. So much for blessed silence.

“Jaskier, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“Oh, fine. Just fine. You know me! Nothing keeps me down! Expect the idea of turning into a ghoul… Do you think Pointy was serious? Or was he just being a dick?”

Geralt chuckled softly. “A dick. But he was serious, Jaskier. We need a sorceress. Then you’ll be fine.”

The bard became quiet. Geralt tried to think of something to say to make it better but Jaskier beat him to it.

“You know,” he said as he sat next to Geralt. “I never thanked you for saving my life earlier.”

Geralt sighed. People didn’t thank him. It wasn’t customary to thank a Witcher.

“I’m sorry for all the mess I caused,” Jaskier went on. “I tried my best to stay out of your way with the ghouls like you asked. But they just kept coming.” He sighed and Geralt wanted to tell him not to worry about it. “Eh, anyway,” he continued, “I knew you were fine. Besides, I’ve composed at least ten new songs since then! But when it comes right down to it, I’m not a Witcher.”

Geralt hummed and continued cleaning his blade. He did not understand what point Jaskier was getting at.

“That’s why I want you to teach me how to fight.”

His hands stopped. Geralt stilled. He turned to face Jaskier, a fond smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “So, you want to help me fight monsters now, is that it, bard?”

Jaskier exhaled a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he said in all seriousness. “I do.”


	4. A Feel of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt makes Jaskier an offer he cannot refuse.

“I am not going to teach you to fight, Jaskier, and that’s final.”

The sun beat down on the black leather of Geralt’s armor. They walked along an old dusty road, having the same conversation for what seemed like hours. Well, Jaskier walked and talked. Geralt sat silent atop Roach.

“Bollocks. You’ll teach me,” came Jaskier’s bold reply as if Geralt had no say so in the matter.

“Dammit, Jaskier, No, I won’t.” Geralt furrowed his brow, attempting to appear menacing, but it went unnoticed by the bard. “Now drop it.”

“Fine be that way, Geralt. Have fun watching my ass as I walk away.” Jaskier trotted in front.

Geralt sighed. It was impossible for him not to stare at that round ass. Ever since they left the woods where Geralt had camped that morning, they seemed to dance around each other. As if an unspoken bond from their last ordeal had shifted something fragile between them. More than ever, Geralt had the strong urge to touch Jaskier. To claim him. His hands itched with it.

If Geralt didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he turned into a silent fool every time the bard stared at him too long, those big clear blue eyes silently speaking to him.

“ _Have fun watching my ass as I walk away. Walk awaaay—ay! You’ll never see one finer than this_.” Jaskier sang in the distance.

Geralt rolled his eyes and tried to hide the smirk growing on his lips. As of late, he seemed to smile more ever since the bard had come into his life. It was unnatural for a Witcher.

“Besides,” Jaskier called over his shoulder. “If I don’t learn how to fight, how will I ever prove myself as worthy travel companion to you!”

Geralt waited until Jaskier was down the road and out of earshot.

“You already have.”

* * *

The local tavern they stopped at was noisier than most. Geralt would have preferred to camp out in the woods, taking refuge in the solitude of nature. But with enough coin to fill their pockets, and Jaskier still needing proper rest, he opted for a night at a tavern. It would be a good chance to ask around for a sorceress while they were at it.

“So,” Jaskier began as he sat next to Geralt, a mug of beer in one hand. “I was thinking…”

“Hmm.” Geralt took a deep swing of his beer. “Don’t hurt yourself, Jaskier.”

The Witcher tried hard not to smile when Jaskier’s mouth dropped open.

“You- _you_! Are not funny, Mr. Grumpy Pants! I, however, on the other hand, am hilarious!”

“Hmm. I highly doubt that. Hilariously troublesome more like it,” he joked.

The air between them stilled and Geralt worried for a moment if he offended the bard. But Jaskier just sighed and stared ahead.

“You know,” he said, sneaking a side glance at Geralt. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a courtier singing for my supper. I never wanted for much, other than to wear nice clothing, eat good food, bed pretty ladies and be able to sing to my heart’s content.”

Geralt hummed.

“Then I met you.”

That made Geralt go still. The bard was definitely nervous. Geralt knew Jaskier well enough by now that he had something important to say. The fidgety way he tapped his foot against the floor and pleading gestures he made with his eyes spoke volumes.

“So,” Geralt tried to sound indifferent. “You left Queen Calanthe’s court on the night I did. For what, to compose your next song?”

“For… yeah, my next song. Listen, I trust you, Geralt. That’s why I’ve given it a lot of thought.” He paused to take a long gulp of beer. “I want you to kill me before I turn into a ghoul. I would at least would like to die as myself…. rather than a monster.”

The uproar of the tavern carried on but everything went silent in Geralt’s ears.

“What did you just fucking say?” Geralt tilted his head, his voice dangerously low.

“I said—”

“I heard you.” Geralt bared his teeth and the couple from across the table scooted up and left. “What I don’t understand,” he spat through clenched teeth, “is how one person could be so _bloody stupid_!”

Jaskier sighed and hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry! I know what I’m asking is a lot. But, if I am I to turn into a ghoul, I want it to be you, Geralt, who ends my suffering. It has to be you.”

Geralt pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Did I not say I would protect you?” His throat tightened and people looked. “Did I not say I would keep you safe?”

“You did!” Jaskier pleaded and Geralt couldn’t stare into those clear blue eyes any longer or his resolve might break. “And I know, I know you’ll keep your promise, Geralt! That’s just the type of man you are. But just in case—”

“Fuck off, bard. Don’t talk to me for the rest the night.”

Jaskier called after him. But Geralt kept walking until he became lost in the crowd. He had too. Otherwise, he might do something he would regret like look back and never let go.

* * *

From where Geralt leaned against the wooden post, he could feel a pair of eyes on him. Wherever Geralt went, Jaskier watched. When he downed his second mug of beer for the night, he noticed Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, never too far away, but never close enough. One man should not be allowed to make puppy-dog eyes like that. It was a weapon. Geralt tried not to think about it as he slammed his mug of beer on the counter.

“Hey, Witcher,” a feminine voice called.

Geralt turned.

Lips painted red and flowers in her hair, a lady of night stood before him. Brown ringlets framing her face, the shapely woman smiled. Her scantily clad barmaid dress left little to the imagination. A long slit exposing one of her creamy thighs, Geralt liked what he saw.

“For a price, wanna get a room?” She smirked with the suggestive tilt to her head.

Pretty, with a great pair of tits only — _Only she wasn’t Jaskier. Fuck._

His heart slammed into his stomach at his sudden realization.

He wanted Jaskier.

But did he truly? A memory of soft lips, stupid non-stop chatter and blue eyes, Geralt murmured ‘ _fuck_ ’ again under his breath. The answer was yes. A firm, unrelenting yes.

“No. I’m short on coin tonight.” He bowed his head in a way of an apology.

The woman scoffed and all her flirtatious charms wilted. “Your loss.” She turned to leave.

“Wait. I’m looking for a sorceress. Know one?”

“A sorceress? No.” She frowned. “But you might want to try your luck with _The Duke De’Cathel_ west of here, might know a thing or two. And when you start making that coin, Witcher, come see me. I’ll give a night you won’t forget.” She winked. “The name’s Amalthea. Thea, for short.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Thea. You have my thanks.”

A flash of gold and sad blue eyes wandered past Geralt.

Head hanging low, Jaskier made his way past Geralt to the room they shared.

Watching Jaskier tread his way toward their chambers, Geralt felt a strange tug in the center of his chest. Fuck it. Time to figure this thing out.

Like a wolf on a hunt, he excused himself before chasing after the one person who meant more to him than he dared admit.

* * *

Jaskier yelped when Geralt pushed open the door right after him.

“Oooh, scary face! Mean face!” Jaskier tried to make light of the situation as Geralt stood there, staring. “All right, all right! You don’t have to say it, Geralt. I’ll leave!”

“Leave?” The big man frowned and slammed the door shut.

“Oh, ah, so you’re talking to me now?” He beamed. His heart did a little happy dance. “Oh, that’s great news, Geralt! I knew you’d come around, you scamp! So, uh, where’s your lady friend? The one with the lovely bosoms?”

In two strides, Geralt entered his personal space, all possessiveness and power. Jaskier loved when he did that. It was a major turn-on.

“I’m not going to be taken in by those eyes anymore.”

“What?” Jaskier swallowed.

“You heard me.” Geralt breathed in his face and took hold of his chin.

As their breath mingled, hot and heavy, Jaskier melted. Those calloused fingers were so gentle. And although shocked by the turn of events, Jaskier heard Geralt. Heard him loud and clear.

“Give me one night.” Geralt spoke against his mouth and Jaskier stared into his yellow eyes, breath coming out fast.

“Just give me one night, Jaskier,” Geralt said again. “That’s all I ask.”

Heat scorched through Jaskier right down to his groin. Heart hammering and eyes wide, Jaskier nodded. This was too good to be true.

Before Jaskier could even blink, Geralt pushed him up against the door and brought his mouth, hot and open, down on Jaskier. Trapped by that big muscular body, Jaskier went stiff before closing his eyes. He surrendered and parted his mouth, allowing Geralt in. Their tongues tangled, earning a low satisfied grunt from Geralt.

Butterflies danced in his stomach as Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s white hair, soft and weathered. Their hips rocked together before Geralt broke away to suck on Jaskier’s tongue, slowly biting his bottom lip, pulling it through his teeth. Then he claimed Jaskier’s mouth again with another soul-shattering kiss.

Jaskier hummed and broke away to breathe. His eyes heavy lidded and chest heaving, Jaskier leaned his head back against the door.

“You taste like onion,” he said, lust burning in him like fire.

Geralt dropped his head, his big shoulders sagging.

“Fuck.” He sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

When Geralt stepped aside to leave, fear hit Jaskier straight in the center of his chest.

“Wait!” he cried and Geralt stopped. “Geralt, teach me to fight and I’ll…. give you one night. Sounds fair, right?”

 _I’d give you all my nights for the rest of my life if only you’d ask!_ His mind screamed.

If Geralt wanted a night with him, Jaskier would more than gladly agree. Of all the men out there, it had to be Geralt. It would always be Geralt. He wanted no one else.

Something in his eyes must have given him away, for in the space of a breath, Geralt flipped him around in his arms. Oh shit. He enjoyed being man-handled by Geralt. Liked it _way_ too much.

“Put your hands against the door,” Geralt breathed against his ear.

Breathing hard, Jaskier did as he was told and placed his palms flat.

“Don’t move.”

Damn. Geralt barely even touched him and his cock already went hard in his pants.

Pinned to the door by those large arms, Geralt pressed in close behind. So close, Jaskier felt every muscle tense in that powerful body. The Witcher breathed low and deep by his ear and Jaskier let out a little whimper. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him this hard. But by the hard bulge in Geralt’s pants at least he wasn’t alone.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came out in a growl. And fuck if Jaskier didn’t find that sexy as hell. “I’m going to touch you.”

Head tilted back, Jaskier closed his eyes. Geralt brushed his thumb under the waistband of his pants in a slow teasing motion. Biting his lip, Jaskier bucked his hips when Geralt palmed his dick through his trousers.

“ _Holyshitbollocksdick_!” he gasped. “We’re really doing this… we’re really, holy… _penis_!” Jaskier cried when Geralt gave his cock a light squeeze.

Geralt chuckled against his ear. “Relax.”

Shivering with pleasure, Jaskier exhaled a deep breath. He rolled his hips and began grinding his ass against Geralt’s erection like some common whore.

“Fuck.” Geralt grunted and bit down on the space between his neck and shoulder.

Jaskier cried out.

Skilled fingers slipped beneath his waistband to stroke Jaskier. Geralt pumped his leaking cock as they rocked in unison.

“Yeah.” Jaskier dropped his head back on Geralt’s shoulder. “Get me off, baby.”

They rutted like two animals in heat. In what Jaskier could best describe as maddening, lengthy strokes, Geralt worked him good and hard. The dry friction had him panting and wanting more. Their eyes met and Geralt crushed their mouths together in another deep kiss. Lips smacked and tongues flicked together as they sighed and gasped.

Tension built in Jaskier. He was close.

As they kissed, Geralt broke away, leaving Jaskier in a confused daze. Hands still pressed to the door, he blinked, whimpering at the sudden loss. But then Geralt pressed in close again, breath hot on his neck.

One hand slick with oil, Geralt pumped Jaskier, stopping every so often to massage his balls and touch his taint. Jaskier loved it. He twisted his hips to get closer. If that was just a taste of things to come, Jaskier didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to ever stop.

As Geralt continued to stroke him, he wondered what it would be like if Geralt were to touch his hole and Jaskier almost lost it.

Then Geralt whispered something inaudible against the shell of his ear, biting down, and Jaskier closed his eyes as Geralt jerked him off. His balls tightened and he let out a strangled cry. Hot bursts of cum shot out in long ropes on his chest as his orgasm took hold.

Glassy eyed and chest heaving, Jaskier locked eyes on Geralt. They kissed deeply, slower this time, before Jaskier broke away. He threw his head back against Geralt and laughed.

“That was amazing!” he breathed as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

Geralt moved away but things were just getting started. Jaskier didn’t want to stop here. Geralt was still hard as hell.

“Uh. What about you?” Jaskier glanced to the tent Geralt was sprouting.

In a moment of pure lunacy and without thinking twice, Jaskier grabbed Geralt by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Their eyes connected and desire burned white hot between them.

“Off,” Jaskier ordered and Geralt grunted.

With a tug, Jaskier helped Geralt lift his black tunic overhead. They kissed frantically as if their lives depended on it, as nothing else mattered. Mouths tasting and tongues licking, Jaskier loved the feel of Geralt against him, all hard muscle and power. He scraped his teeth lightly over the indent on Geralt’s chin, licking at the stubble there (gods, he loved that stubble) and continued to kiss a pathway down his chest, stopping to lick and bite down on Geralt’s nipples. When his fingers ran over the light dusting of chest hair down to the thicker trail leading to his groin, Geralt’s abs tightened.

Jaskier came to rest on his knees and stared up at him, breathing hard.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and Jaskier just about melted by way Geralt said his name.

So much want and so much need between them, Jaskier took it as encouragement and nuzzled the giant bulge in his pants, making Geralt hiss. Slowly, he undid the buttons and tugged. When Geralt’s cock finally sprang free, Jaskier just started at it. Uncut, hard, with thick veins running underneath, Jaskier didn’t know how it would fit in his mouth.

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Jaskier experimentally ran his tongue over the cockhead. Geralt panted and Jaskier’s cock twitched back to life. He closed his eyes and sucked. He’d never done anything like this before, but hearing the low sounds and grunts of pleasure coming from Geralt made his whole-body ache with desire. Gods, did he want this. He wanted Geralt.

Geralt threaded his fingers through is short hair and Jaskier took that as sign to keep sucking. Using his hands, he took Geralt all the way in, right up to that thick patch of hair, until he could feel the Witcher twitch at the back of his throat. Cock in his mouth, Jaskier looked up at Geralt. When they made eye contact, Jaskier felt it. Felt it right down to his bones like an electric current.

Geralt groaned.

Oh, thank fuck. He was enjoying it. Geralt was _really_ enjoying it and gifted him one of his rare, sexy half-smiles.

This was turning out to be fun. Jaskier wrapped a hand around the stem of Geralt’s cock and stroked, working him fast with his hands and mouth. He loved the musky taste of him. A small thrill danced down his spine knowing he was the one making Geralt of Rivia come apart right now.

He took one more look at Geralt before moving off to take one of his heavy balls into his mouth and suck.

“ _Fuuuuuuck_. Jaskier.” Geralt threw his head back in a low hiss.

Pleased that Geralt enjoyed what he was doing, Jaskier hummed, his confidence growing. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue along the underside of his cock to suck on the leaking tip. His tongue flicked along the slit to lap at the pre-cum. Geralt tugged at his hair and groaned.

“Get up.” His voice came out in a growl, lifting Jaskier to his feet.

Eyes filled with lust and mouth parted, Jaskier stood before him, waiting.

“Take off your clothes,” Geralt ordered. “Get on the bed.”

His cock hard as iron, Jaskier obeyed. He shimmed out of his pants and small clothes, dropping them to the floor as he climbed back on the bed, leaning back on his elbows.

Geralt stared at him wolfishly. The intense scrutiny had Jaskier swallowing hard. But Geralt continued to stare at him, all naked hunger and want.

“Hmm.” Geralt made a satisfied noise and stood before him, kicking off his pants and boots so he was naked too. “Now spread your legs.”

When Jaskier did as he was told, the large Witcher climbed on top of him, his wolf medallion dangling between them as he lowered down to kiss Jaskier again. His big, rough hands smoothed back Jaskier’s hair as they kissed, biting, licking, sucking. Jaskier sank his hands onto Geralt’s large biceps and pulled him close.

Their naked bodies fit together perfectly. Far more perfect than Jaskier could ever dream. He sighed and moaned as Geralt kissed a path down his body, stopping to lick his nipples, his skillful tongue flicking the peaked buds back and forth. As their leaking cocks slid together, Jaskier let out a loud cry as he clasped at the pillows overhead. The hot friction was enough to drive him mad. What Geralt did to him, made him feel, went beyond desire. It was pure heaven.

Arching off the bed, Jaskier cried out when Geralt wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and gave it a light squeeze before dragging his hand up and down.

His dick wet with pre-cum, Jaskier spread his legs wider, wanting something else, wanting something _more_.

“Geralt,” his voice came out in a needy gasp.

When Geralt moved away, Jaskier whined. A low chuckle came from Geralt. He returned, his weight sinking into the bed. Wet fingers, slick with lube, slid to brush over his puckered hole. Jaskier let out a whimper. Fuck, that felt _way_ too good. But his eyes shot wide open when Geralt slipped the the tip of his finger inside.

“Relax,” Geralt soothed. “I want you to enjoy this.”

Their eyes met and Jaskier spread his legs wider, exposing himself fully to Geralt. Nothing but trust and desire between them.

Then Geralt put his mouth on Jaskier and Jaskier threw his head back in a sharp gasp.

Nerve endings alight with fire, Jaskier moaned as Geralt worked him with his tongue. Geralt thumbed his taint as his mouth sucked and licked a path along his hole, teasing his sack and cock, probing him gently with his tongue and fingers.

“Holy fuck!” Jaskier rasped, rocking his hips to meet him. “Yeah, yeah. I want it, Geralt. _I want you_.”

The way Geralt growled at him was a huge turn on. Cock throbbing and leaking, Jaskier stroked himself only to have his hand batted away by Geralt.

“No.” He grunted. “Not yet.”

“Then touch me.” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes hazy.

There was that sexy half-smirk again. Using his fingers, Geralt slid a lubed finger into his ass. Jaskier pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Damn Geralt and his fingers.

Their eyes met and Jaskier nodded, chest heaving.

“More.”

Geralt inserted another finger. He waited for Jaskier to adjust before adding a third. Twisting slow, filling him, Geralt moved inside, reaching for that spot.

Panting heavy, Jaskier moaned and stared to fuck himself on Geralt’s fingers.

Every sensation on fire, Jaskier became lost in Geralt. He looked like pure sex. It was driving him insane.

“Uh, Geralt. Please, ah, please fuck me.”

Geralt stilled. Lifting his head, his yellow pupils wide, he met Jaskier head on.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitation lining his features.

A brief pause.

“Yes. I want you to.”

“Hmm.” Geralt pressed a tender kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Turn around.”

* * *

With some of the more adventurous women he’d been with, Jaskier had insinuated ass-play. He enjoyed having his ass touched. But he always longed to be on the receiving end of getting fucked rather than be the one doing the fucking.

Now, with Geralt’s large fingers working inside him, Jaskier knew what he always wanted, what he always longed for. Geralt. He wanted Geralt.

Up on his knees, resting on his forearms, Jaskier gripped the sheets tight. Geralt was taking his time with him. Drawing out every moan and pleasure induced gasp from his mouth.

But when Geralt stopped, Jaskier whined. About to plead with him to continue, Jaskier stilled when the tip of his lubed cock brushed over his hole. Geralt began to tease Jaskier with his cock and seemed to enjoy it too. With the heel of his hand pressing on the small of Jaskier’s back, Geralt slid his hard, weeping cock back and forth along his ass in languid strokes.

Turned on to the point of no return and driven by desire, Jaskier was about to beg for it when Geralt asked, “Ready?”

“Yes,” Jaskier gasped. “I want you inside me.”

Geralt hummed while spreading and kneading his ass cheeks apart. When that thick cockhead pushed against his tight ring of muscle, Jaskier let out a deep groan. He forced himself to relax and thought it would hurt more. Instead, he just felt an enormous amount of pressure and the slight burn of being penetrated. Geralt was _huge_.

“You okay?” Geralt asked, his tone deep and husky.

Jaskier glanced back to see just how hard Geralt refrained from thrusting the rest of the way home. Yellow eyes burned bright, brighter than any star and Jaskier knew no matter what, he would always be safe with Geralt.

In soothing motions, Geralt ran his big calloused hands along Jaskier’s spine and ribs. Jaskier loved the feel of how gentle Geralt was being with him, as if he was something to be treasured.

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine, Geralt. Just move.”

Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s hips, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his back in a low hum. Jaskier felt it all the way to his leaking cock. Geralt slowly eased himself all the way in, bit by careful bit, shifting and rotating his hips until Jaskier cried out.

_Holy fuck! Holy fuck fuck!_

His vision turned white when Geralt hit a spot deep inside him. Stars danced behind his eyes and he gripped the sheets tighter in a loud moan.

“Mmm, that’s it.” Geralt pressed another soft kiss to his back.

Jaskier panted hard as Geralt began to move in a slow steady rhythm, pulling out slightly before thrusting deep inside. The slapping of skin against skin and gasping moans filled the room and Jaskier couldn’t keep quiet.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped. “Oh Gods, Geralt, yeah. _Fuck me, fuck me_.”

Geralt growled in between thrusts. “Do you ever shut up?”

Blinded with lust, Jaskier glanced over his shoulder and gave a teasing little smirk.

“I guess— _ah_!” he gasped. “You’ll just have to think of a way to keep me quiet,” he challenged, pushing back against each thrust.

Geralt’s pupils dilatated and Jaskier smirked. He loved driving Geralt wild.

Calloused fingers tugged his hair back and Geralt kissed him hard, crushing their mouths together as he pumped fast inside him. Jaskier was free falling and he didn’t want to stop.

“Jaskier, you’re so tight. So perfect,” Geralt panted against his open mouth.

This was too much, too intense. Geralt inside him, taking great care to be gentle while fucking his brains out at the same time. Something was building inside him and ready to explode. Jaskier dropped his head down and yelled as his climax took hold. An earth-shattering orgasm ripped through his entire body as his balls tightened. Long ropes of cum shot from his hardened cock without even touching himself. His inner walls clenched tight around Geralt and Geralt swore through his teeth. Jaskier mourned the loss of his cock when Geralt pulled out and groaned as he ejaculated all over his back.

Ass in the air and hole twitching, Jaskier hummed in satisfaction, damp with sweat and semen. It should have grossed him out a little. Instead it felt more like being claimed by Geralt and he loved it.

Breathing hard, Jaskier buried his face into the pillow as the aftershocks of his orgasm jerked through his body. He heard Geralt rasp, “Fuck. I’m never that fast.”

He laughed. Neither was he.

The bed creaked when Geralt got up. Boneless and content, Jaskier sighed as Geralt wiped his back. Jaskier indulged in being tended to. He’d never been fucked so good in all his life.

“Jaskier?” Geralt said. His voice laced with concern. “Jaskier, are you okay?”

A smile on his lips, Jaskier turned to look at the Witcher. His white hair hung in long damp strands over his face. His yellow eyes glowed. He was beautiful. He was forbidden. But in these stolen moments, he belonged to Jaskier.

“Yeah. Can we…” He caught his breath. “Can we do that again?”

Geralt gave him a heated stare. “Yes,” he said and then kissed him.

* * *

After they finished coupling for the third time, Jaskier, sweaty, sated and breathing hard, flopped across Geralt’s chest. He closed his eyes and thought it would feel strange drifting off to sleep in the protective space of Geralt’s arms.

Instead it felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never write smut. I mean ever, ever. I was rather nervous to post this... I hope it was okay. But thank you so much to everyone who has read this story so far! Originally, I planned for this to be just a one-shot but I got carried away. And for the next few weeks my schedule is a little hectic, so regular Sunday updates might be delayed by a week or two. But not to worry! I have sooo much planned for this story. Lots more chapters to come. Thank you for reading!


	5. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get complicated when Geralt tries to keep his distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> In these scary and uncertain times, I would like to say a few words. With the global Pandemic of COVID-19, so much fear and negativity is being spread through the media. While it is important to stay up to date on this virus, if you, or any of your loved ones are finding yourself overwhelmed by the news and social media, please keep in mind to check facts not fear. It is important to stay calm and not panic during this time. And while I am absolutely heartbroken and saddened that so many people have been affected by this horrible virus, we, as a united world, can beat this! And remember, "This Too Shall Pass."
> 
> So, until that day comes, please stay safe, stay strong, and stay healthy. Remember, it's always darkest before the dawn. And no matter what, you are not alone. Stand strong. We are in this together. :)
> 
> -Cakkie.

Light filtered underneath a crack in the door, signaling the start of a new day. A plate smashed somewhere beyond where Jaskier and Geralt slept as people busied about outside the sanctity of their room.

Without even opening his eyes, Geralt could feel Jaskier staring at him.

“What?” he croaked, tightening his protective hold on Jaskier.

“You’re beautiful.”

That made Geralt crack open an eye. Dark brown hair sticking up every which way and blue eyes heavy lidded and glossy, Jaskier rested in the groove of his arms, body curled around his.

“When the sunlight hits your sleeping face,” Jaskier carried on, his voice sleepy with sex, “you’re really beautiful, Geralt of Rivia.”

A slow smirk spread over his lips. Geralt liked this. He enjoyed waking up with Jaskier in his arms.

He turned to Jaskier, and a satisfied hum escaped his mouth.

“Fuck. I’ve been called many things in my time, but never that.” Geralt smirked.

“Well, it’s true.”

Save for a lone sheet covering them both, Jaskier stretched his naked body close while pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Geralt hummed again and closed his eyes. A man could get used to this. His cock stirred at the memory of Jaskier’s sweet cries. No one had ever come apart in his arms the way Jaskier did. He was so responsive. Almost as if…

_Enough._

Geralt shot up in bed, sending Jaskier rolling to one side. A protective surge hit him when Jaskier winced as he landed flat on his back.

“You okay?” Geralt spoke over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jaskier breathed. “Brilliant. Considering how you fucked my brains out last night.”

Geralt turned to him. “Well, it wasn’t hard,” he said a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have much to begin with.”

After a brief pause, Jaskier shot straight out of bed and tossed a pillow at his head. “You… _horse’s ass_!” He laughed while lunging at Geralt.

As they tumbled together on the bed, tackling each other in play-fight, Geralt laughed. He easily overpowered the smaller man, flipping him onto his back.

Chests heaving and eyes glued to each other, Geralt caged Jaskier in with his hands on either side of his head, towering above him.

Fuck. He wanted Jaskier again. His eyes darted from Jaskier’s parted lips to the pink ribbon scar marking his shoulder and became flooded with guilt.

“I should’ve been more careful.” He noted, running the pad of this thumb over the thin scar.

“Ah, _you?_ Geralt?” Jaskier blinked. “I’m the one who fucked up big time. Besides, it’s my first scar.”

“And your last.”

Before he could stop himself, Geralt bent down and pressed a soft kiss over it.

“You have so many,” Jaskier remarked softly, his fingers trailing ghostlike patterns over a long needlework scar on his ribcage. Geralt remembered that one. It had taken that fucking useless medic hours to stitch him back together. He closed his eyes and relaxed into Jaskier.

When Jaskier murmured words against his hair, Geralt hummed in question.

“Scars,” Jaskier repeated. “You have so many of them.”

“Too many. The life of a Witcher,” Geralt admitted. He sank further into Jaskier. Their bodies fit perfectly together as Jaskier welcomed him with open arms and legs. His fingers carding through his hair in gentle strokes.

When Jaskier rubbed his leg up and down against his, the friction doing things to his cock, he growled out, “Stop it.”

Jaskier chuckled softly into his hair. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t. But it took all of Geralt’s will power to roll off the smaller man and lay flat on his back. One night. That was the deal. As much as he wanted things to continue, to take Jaskier in his arms and ravish him senseless, Geralt couldn’t afford to get used to this. He was a Witcher for fuck’s sake. And Witcher’s did not have partners or lovers. But after one night with Jaskier, that is exactly what it felt like.

As soon as they got a hold of this Duke De’Cathel and found a sorceress to heal Jaskier once and for all, only then would they go their separate ways.

“What do you think he meant?” Jaskier asked in a sigh.

“Who?”

“Pointy.”

Oh. There was a subject Geralt did _not_ want to talk about. At the thought of Talfyrn with his ice-blue eyes and punchable face, Geralt suppressed a growl.

“Forget him.”

Eyes on the ceiling, Geralt felt Jaskier shift on the bed.

“Yeah, that’s all easily said and done, Geralt,” he murmured. “But either way, I still don’t get it.” Jaskier stared drawing figureless patterns on his chest again. And fuck if Geralt didn’t want to reach out and touch him. The man was addictive.

“Don’t know.” Geralt white knuckled his fists on the sheet.

“I expected fireworks to go off,” he complained. “Or at least magic to shoot from his hands when I agreed to his terms, but nothing. Not even a lightening strike. It was… anticlimactic. Almost like what you went through with—”

“The Child Surprise.” Geralt answered for him.

“Yeah. That.”

Geralt sighed. He pulled Jaskier into his arms. The smaller man sank effortlessly against him, their bodies molding against one another until there was no space for anything else. Their eyes met, and heat flared between them. Just as they both leaned in for a kiss, a knock on the door broke them apart.

“Time to move out!” a rough baritone voice called from behind the door.

Jaskier rolled off him with a groan. Geralt felt tempted to pay whatever toll necessary to stay in bed with Jaskier a moment longer, but with little to no coin left in either of their pockets, it was no use. They had to move on.

A heavy fist pounded against the door.

“I said!—”

“Leave off!” Geralt bellowed. “Give us a moment to dress ourselves!”

The Witcher stood and watched Jaskier slip his pants on out of the corner of his eye. Fuck. He still wanted Jaskier. Wanted him in a way that went beyond carnal need or desire. It was soul deep. And nothing would change that fact, even if it couldn’t happen again. Geralt turned his head and dressed.

His mind distracted, he struggled to belt his daggers into his armor.

“Here,” Jaskier offered behind him. “Allow me.”

Geralt stilled and allowed Jaskier a moment to adjust his weaponry. His hands steady, Jaskier aligned the knives in his belt holster and tied it tight. Never had Geralt allowed anyone to assist him in such a personal manner. But gazing down at Jaskier as he worked his armor, humming all the while, a revelation hit Geralt. He trusted Jaskier. Trusted him with his life.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. This was becoming too intimate, too easy.

“That’s enough.” Geralt moved to one side.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“No, Geralt. I’m sorry for what I said last night about the whole ghoul sha-backle. I… uh,” he wavered. “I should have never asked that of you. It was wrong of me. I am truly sorry.”

Geralt swallowed a lump in his throat. Hearing Jaskier speak so low with his heart in his voice, made his chest constrict. Even though Jaskier tried not to show it or pretend otherwise, Geralt knew he feared the unknown. His blue eyes said it all.

“Forget it,” he said, tilting Jaskier by the chin. “I will not let that happen.”

With a nod, Jaskier glanced away as if there was nothing either of them could say or do. Then the mood shifted from a serious nature to a simple one, as Jaskier sang, ‘ _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_ ’ under his breath as he laced the knots on Geralt’s black leather back sword strap.

“There. All done,” Jaskier announced with a little pat to his shoulders.

“Hmm.”

When Jaskier didn’t move away, Geralt glanced over his shoulder.

“I… really don’t want to turn into a ghoul,” he said in a whisper.

He looked so small and vulnerable huddled next to him that Geralt felt his heart twist in his chest.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but even if you do… I’ll know you, and keep you safe.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “How would you know that it’s me?”

“Because I know you, Jaskier,” Geralt admitted after taking a deep breath. “You’ll sing.”

* * *

They made their way to a small clearing in green forest miles away from where they first started out on their journey. This time, Geralt allowed Jaskier to ride atop Roach.

“Anyway, you promised, Geralt!” Jaskier announced brightly from where he sat behind the big muscled man. “No going back on your word now, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

The Witcher groaned and Jaskier grinned from ear-to-ear. He could practically feel Geralt roll his eyes.

“Hmm.” Geralt pulled Roach to stop. “We’ll, make camp here for the night. You okay with sleeping outdoors?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain, I’m a happy man,” Jaskier said as dismounted Roach who snorted in agreement while Geralt gave him a hard stare.

They didn’t talk about what happened the night before. But whether the larger man was aware of it, every so often, Geralt would lean back to touch Jaskier in a soft caress or unconsciously grip his thigh.

Even if Geralt tried to deny it, this was far from over. Something had shifted between them, and new doors had opened. Jaskier felt tied to Geralt in a way that went beyond physical.

“Okay, this spot looks as good as any.” Hands on his hips, Jaskier glanced around the clearing broken in half by a fast-flowing stream. “When do we start?”

“Start what?” Geralt asked not bother to look up from where he leaned over to check Roach’s hooves.

“Why, my training of course, you scamp!”

Geralt stood.

In the space of three heartbeats he strode over to Jaskier. He towered next to him, invading his space. Jaskier swallowed. Those yellow eyes shone intensely into his, leaving Jaskier dumbstruck. A flash of Geralt holding him close in his memory captured his attention. Jaskier almost swooned. Although it only happened one night, well three times in one night to be exact, Jaskier wanted to sink into the safety of those big arms again and never let go.

“You truly wish to learn?”

“Uhh… yes?” it came out more like a question than an answer.

“Hmm.” Geralt contemplated as if he doubted whether Jaskier could keep up.

That made Jaskier even more determined to try. He wanted to impress the hell out of the other man and come hell or high water, he planned do it.

“All right,” he said stepping away. “The first line of training defence is size.”

“Size?” Jaskier parroted, a frown marring his features.

“Hmm. Man, monster, war. No matter what circumstance you find yourself in, you must always size up your opponent and stay alert. It’s the most important part of keeping yourself safe. And if you cannot beat your adversary—”

“Join them?”

Geralt arched an eyebrow and smirked. “Run, Jaskier. Always keep yourself safe.”

“But that’s not what—”

“Keep yourself safe.” He cupped Jaskier’s cheek and Jaskier’s heart flip-flopped in his chest. “Always. Now, basic warmup.”

Geralt ran through some moves of self-defence with his sword, cutting down an invisible foe. He had Jaskier repeat the motion with a stick until he worked up a sweat. It amazed him how Geralt showed his skills with a sword, his muscles bunching and flexing with every shift and swing. The Witcher moved his large frame with such skill and ease he made fighting look like a dance.

While Jaskier could never hope to compete with Geralt, he planned to at least try.

“That’s it,” Geralt encouraged, not at all out of breath. “Practice that move until you are confident in what you are doing. Then do it again. Keep your form steady. I’ll check back on you in a little while.”

“You’re leaving?” Jaskier watched him go.

“We need food and kindling for tonight’s fire,” Geralt announced as he walked off.

 _We, he said_.

Jaskier liked the sound of that. He smiled and kept his pace, hoping to impress the Witcher with his new set of skills when he got back.

* * *

So, training stunk.

The sun sank over the horizon. Twilight kissed the sky in a hue of purple and pink. Roach grazed in a meadow nearby, and Jaskier, soaked in sweat and breathing hard, continued to practice.

His throat dry, Jaskier swallowed. His muscles burned from repeating the same defence moves over again. But even so, he planned to practice them until they became second nature. No matter what, Jaskier refused to quit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Geralt skin two rabbits for tonight’s supper. His mouth watered and stomach growled in anticipation. But watching Geralt tight lipped, his large hands focused on his task and white hair dangling forward, a hot meal wasn’t the only thing to make his mouth water.

Why did the man always look so damn good? Why did Jaskier want him so badly?

Jaskier turned his head and sighed.

“Stop.” Geralt stomped towards him, tossing the water canteen as he did so. “Breathe.”

Jaskier threw his head back in a loud groan as his muscles screamed in release. Finally, he could rest.

“Oooh, oh-hoo! Geralt,” he panted bending forward. “I thought I would die!”

“You did well.” Geralt crossed his big arms across his broad chest, and Jaskier’s mouth watered. “Now, let’s work on a deflect attack.”

“What?”

“Just one more lesson, Jaskier. Then you can rest.”

A complaint died on his lips the moment he opened his mouth to protest. Jaskier wanted to prove to himself that he could do this. And do this he would.

“If an attacker comes at you from this angle,” Geralt demonstrated in slow-motion, coming around Jaskier with an imaginary weapon.

“You do this,” he murmured, voice husky and low.

Pressed into the solid weight of Geralt’s chest, Jaskier’s heart beat uncontrollably. He found it hard to focus on anything else when Geralt held him close.

“Understand?” Geralt finished and Jaskier blinked up at him.

“Umm, would you mind repeating that? Sorry, I must have zoned out there for a moment.”

His stomach did fluttery things when Geralt stared at his mouth. Oh shit. They stood in a similar position like the one they shared last night. Only this time Jaskier’s hands weren’t pressed against a wall and Geralt’s hands weren’t down his pants.

Other than the soft hooting of an owl and the trickling water nearby, silence filled the space around them. Then Geralt said, “This is too much for you.”

Refusal flared to life in Jaskier.

“You don’t get to decide that, Geralt!” He pushed away from the bigger man.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called and Jaskier went weak at hearing Geralt say his name so soft.

They stood flush together, and Jaskier met Geralt’s intense stare.

“I am not made of glass,” he said with the defiant tilt to his chin.

“No,” Geralt agreed, his hand clutching the nape of Jaskier’s neck. “No, you’re not.” And crashed his mouth against Jaskier.

They kissed furiously. Biting, sucking, licking. Their tongues tangled as Jaskier jumped him. His legs wrapped around Geralt’s thick waist, locking at the ankles as his hands gripped behind his neck. Geralt hummed into his mouth as he gripped Jaskier by his ass. Soon he had Jaskier backed up against a tree.

Breathing hard they kissed deeply then broke apart.

“Huh, and here I thought you were ignoring me.” Jaskier smirked at Geralt, eyes heavy lidded.

“I was.”

Ouch. That stung.

Geralt must have sensed the shift in Jaskier for a heated shadow passed over his eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips and admitted, “You make things difficult for me.”

“Me?” Jaskier balked.

“Yes. You,” he spoke against his mouth. “Having you close. Wanting to touch you. I had to walk away.”

The admittance floored Jaskier. But then Geralt kissed him again, sucking on his bottom lip, and Jaskier gave in. The man knew how to kiss.

“You don’t have to walk away from me, Geralt.” Jaskier titled his head back as Geralt kissed and mouthed a path along his throat. “Not ever. There’s nothing wrong with two friends sharing a bit of man-love while on the road.”

Geralt froze and yellow iris’s darkened.

“Don’t say man-love to me _ever_ again,” he growled through clenched teeth.

Jaskier laughed. “Man-love,” he said in a changeling smirk and Geralt kissed him hard.

Soon they were panting, gasping into one another’s mouths as they rutted together.

Shit this was bad.

They were both rock hard and leaking. Geralt growled into his ear as their erections ground together through their pants. Jaskier was slowly losing control again, and he loved it.

“Fuck, yes,” he panted. Geralt did things to him that one else could.

Their eyes met in a heated gaze of kisses and moans as fireworks went off between them.

Geralt’s gaze travelled to curve in his neck. He ran his nose along the sensitive skin, a reminder of where he bit Jaskier the night before and Jaskier panted hard.

“Do it,” Jaskier ordered and Geralt glanced up at him.

 _Bite me_ , his eyes dared.

Geralt did just that. His teeth grazed sensitive pale skin before gently biting down.

Jaskier threw his head back in a gasp as he moaned. Fuck, he loved being taken this way. He loved how possessive Geralt could be with him.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he gasped. “Can’t it be for two nights instead of one?”

_Can’t it be forever?_

Wrong thing to say.

In a flash, Geralt backed off of him. Breathing hard he said, “This stops now.”

No longer supported by Geralt, Jaskier sank to his knees.

“What? Why?” he asked, his heart in his eyes.

“One night, Jaskier. That’s all it was. That’s all it could ever be. Forgive me for losing sight of that. I…” He looked away, guilt etching on his features. “Forgive me.”

Lost for words, Jaskier swallowed a lump caught in his throat and nodded.

“Of course.” He rose to his feet. “How foolish of me.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt called as Jaskier walked past him on shaky legs.

“No, no, you made yourself perfectly clear, Geralt.” He continued to stride towards Roach. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll do some washing. Our clothes are fifthly.”

“I think not.” Geralt grasped hold of his arm and Jaskier almost melted into a puddle of goo. “Last time you beat my shirt against a rock so hard you left holes in it.”

Jaskier stared at him. Stared at where Geralt’s hand met with his arm until his eyes travelled back to Geralt’s. Somehow, they couldn’t stay away from each other.

“I think… I still have that sliver of soap in your pack.” Jaskier swallowed.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded refusing to move.

They stayed locked in that position, eyes searching, lips silent, until Geralt said, “I’ll wash the clothes. You cook the rabbits. Make sure not to burn them this time.” He smiled and stepped aside.

Jaskier felt his heart drop. He wanted more. He wanted Geralt. But that didn’t look like it would happen any time soon.

Deciding to lighten the mood, he called, “Not my fault you made the fire so big last time, Geralt! I, Jaskier the Great, is the best rabbit cooker in all The Continent. Just you wait and see!”

He whistled a happy little tune as he strode over to the fire while inside, he hurt. He felt a pair of wolf eyes on him, but continued to whistle and ignored them. Best if he tried to forget what happened between him and Geralt… what was happening. But Jaskier already knew that deep down it was too late for that. Geralt was woven into the very fabric of his life.


End file.
